


The Shape of You

by coolhandjennie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Green Plaid Shirt, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, awkward boners galore, not a "meet cute", unless you count Jaime's penis meeting Brienne's vagina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 08:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10272221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolhandjennie/pseuds/coolhandjennie
Summary: 5 times Brienne gave Jaime a boner without trying & 1 time she helped.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Ed Sheeran song _The Shape of You_. All characters belong to GRRM, I'm just playing in the sandbox.

The first time Brienne was responsible for Jaime’s boner, she wasn’t even in the room with him. In the midst of a raging hangover, Jaime burrowed into his pillow, trying to blot out the sun. An elusive scent pierced the haze of his muddled brain. Still logy with sleep and liquor, he tunneled deeper into the bedsheets. They smelled different than usual, not his normal laundry soap scent. They were infused with something soothing. His brow furrowed in concentration – was it lemon and basil? Was that even a thing? – as he reached down to palm his morning wood. Dim recognition niggled at the edge of consciousness. Not until his dick was firmly clasped in his hand did it click – his sheets smelled like Brienne’s shampoo. He froze, eyes wide in panic.

Images of soapy rivulets running down Brienne’s muscled torso and legs rapid-fired through his brain, and his dick twitched. He envisioned trails of bubbles channeling along her back, converging at the cleft of her ass. Her firm, perfect ass. Jaime emitted a surprised yelp as he came in his hand before he even knew what was happening. _Seven fucking hells._ He just masturbated to his best friend. His _platonic_ friend. His there-through-thick-and-thin, too-stubborn-for-her-own-good, ugly-in-an-interesting way friend. Whom he certainly wasn’t attracted to. What the fuck was wrong with his brain? And why did his sheets smell like Brienne??

He suddenly recalled a silhouette of unruly hair looming over him last night. She’d put him to bed because he’d been too hammered to take care of himself. He was fully clothed so clearly there’d been no hanky panky. Not that he would ever mess around with Brienne. Or her with him, for that matter. Half the time he felt like she was just barely tolerating him. She must have slept in the bed with him. If his patchy memory was accurate, he’d asked her to stay til he fell asleep.

“Don’t leave me,” he’d muttered.

Had she actually said, “Never,” in a hushed whisper or was his brain still in WTF mode? The foggy veil of his hangover lifted enough for him to wonder where she was now.

The flushing toilet in the adjacent bathroom gave him a thirty second heads up to pull himself together before the lady in question emerged, all brisk energy and tamed hair, ready to slay her day.

“What’s the name of your weirdo shampoo?” he demanded without preamble.

“Excuse me?”

He would’ve rolled his eyes at her denseness if it didn’t feel like shards of ice were piercing his eyeballs. “The smell. Of your shampoo. What’s it called?”

Annoyed for probably more than one reason, she responded, “It’s not weird, it’s just lemongrass." 

 _It_ was _lemons!_ he thought triumphantly, almost pumping a fist in tribute to his superior senses before remembering his beneath-the-sheets predicament. If he moved to sit up, his early morning activities would be revealed and he just couldn’t handle a morally outraged Brienne right then, so he pulled the sheet over his head.

“I’m staying here all day,” he announced, dismissing her.

Her brief huff of a laugh conveyed oceans of subtext. She found him ridiculous, as usual. 

“Fine. I’m taking the Valyrian. Call a cab if you need to be somewhere, otherwise I’ll come get you after work.”

Remembering his debt from the night before, Jaime called out before she left the room, “Thanks. For taking care of me. Last night.” Not quite stumbling over his words, he felt the need to qualify each statement. It’s not like she hadn’t gotten his drunk ass home before. No need to overstate things.

When he heard the jingle of keys and the front door locking shut, he freed himself from the gummy tangle of sheets and prowled to the window, his gaze obliviously covetous as he watched her stride to his sleek red car. Hair gleaming in the early morning sun, Aviators covered her eyes – _those eyes_ – as she folded herself into the low seat with surprising grace. That’s when Jaime realized she was wearing his clothes: slim black trousers tucked into her ankle boots, white button-down tied at her waist, muscle tee protecting her modesty beneath. Was she wearing his boxers too? He couldn’t see any lines underneath the trousers. Any lines at all. He felt a traitorous twitch in his groin. 

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” he scolded his dick as he marched off to a cold shower.

 xXxXx

Jaime’s second Brienne-induced boner manifested unexpectedly during dinner a couple of days later. They were eating takeout from a new all-you-can-eat place, sprawled on Brienne’s ratty old couch like they always did on movie night. He dug into his stir fry with gusto, only to be brought up short as a new and wondrous flavor invaded his senses. It tasted like…Brienne’s shampoo?

“Why are you frowning at your dinner?” she asked.

“I think it has lemongrass in it.”

She peered into his carton and nodded, extracting what he’d thought was a scallion with her chopsticks and popping it into her mouth. “Yup.”

Something she’d eaten was so spicy it made her nose red and runny. Not a good look on her. Still, her laugh made him laugh. The taste of lemongrass lingered on his lips and tongue. She was literally in his head, suffusing his brain. He wondered if she’d taste the same if he kissed her wide, red mouth right now. _Where did_ that _come from?_ he thought, dread and panic mounting as blood rushed to his groin. Luckily his container of food was generally blocking the view of his crotch. He feigned laziness and let her clean up by herself, transferring a pillow over his junk as they settled in for a movie.

How the fuck was this happening again? It was just normal old Brienne, she didn’t get a makeover or turn into another person. Same ol’ awkward giantess. Except…she sort of _did_ seem different, lately. Something about the way she moved in a certain light, the way her muscles bunched and flexed when they worked out together at the gym, the shape of her body as she ran beside him through the park every morning, going all out in the final sprint, always trying to best him, always laughing through her wheezing gasps as they slumped against a tree or park bench, her eyes wide and bright. Gods, her fucking _eyes_. Lately it seemed like he couldn’t stop staring, like she was always catching him looking at her, but he couldn’t help it, he just kept needing to see her eyes.

It still didn’t make sense, though. All those things were true a month ago but they never made him pop a boner before now. What was going on?

First the shower scene he’d imagined the other day, and now this. Although actually, the shower was more memory than fantasy. It happened in the early, antagonistic days of their friendship. He’d accidentally-on purpose walked in on her in the locker room at the gym, not expecting her to be naked as her nameday in the large tiled shower. She’d spazzed out when she saw him and flung a bar of soap at his head, smacking him squarely in the forehead. He tried to stammer out an apology but the absurdity of it all made him start laughing, which just pissed Brienne off more. Finally he pulled off his shirt and shoved his jogging pants and boxers down to his ankles, jutting his pelvis forward to allow Jaime Jr. to dangle in the breeze.

“Now we’re even,” he’d decreed.

Her withering glare indicated she did not agree but their relationship _did_ become marginally less antagonistic afterwards, regardless of her prudish indignation.

Jaime hadn’t thought about any of that in ages, other than to occasionally throw it in her face that he’s seen her naked. Certainly not with as much attention to detail as he’d conjured up over the weekend. And strolling down memory lane was not helping his current situation.

Jaime was too freaked out about fantasizing about his best friend out of the clear blue sky to follow what was happening on the screen. Luckily Brienne seemed oblivious, completely wrapped up in the movie they’d been dying to watch. Dammit, he’d really wanted to see it! Maybe he’d play it again after Brienne went to bed. That idea brings him up short. Normally he would spend the night on her couch but when he thought about Brienne lying in bed ten feet away from him, probably wearing a threadbare t-shirt and boy shorts, he had to rethink his plans. He could not allow this night to end with him jerking off to Brienne in her own godsdamned living room. As soon as the movie ended he made up a lame excuse about having to meet his brother and high tailed it out of there before she could call him out for acting weird.

“I’ll meet you at the park in the morning,” he called out over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

He _always_ stayed over on movie night. Between that and his disengagement during the movie, she was gonna figure out that something was up. Literally and figuratively. And then she would punch him in the face. Or worse. So he needed to get his shit together, and his dick needed to get the fucking memo.

xXxXx 

Jaime took every anti-boner precaution he could think of before meeting up with Brienne the following morning. Their daily jog through the Kingswood was just one of a dozen or more things they did together every week. It wasn’t unusual for them to spend entire weekends together, bouncing between his house and her apartment, going to movies and basketball games, watching TV, cooking, eating, arguing, laughing. Sometimes doing nothing at all, just reading or napping in the same space. They had other friends, of course. He was close with his brother and cousin, she had work and college buddies. Still, it always seemed to come back to the two of them. There was an easy push and pull between them, no drama, no bullshit. They bickered like crazy and pissed each other off constantly but there were never any hard feelings. For whatever reasons, they just clicked and it never occurred to him to ask questions.

That’s why this boner phase was so unsettling. Why, after over a year of being bros, would his body start behaving this way? Maybe there was something wrong with him, maybe he had some kind of tumor that caused his penis to short circuit. But if that was the case any leggy blond would elicit the same response, yet it was only his big strapping wench who seemed to get a rise out of him. So to speak. So probably not a tumor. And since when did he start thinking of Brienne as _his_ wench? He wasn’t even attracted to her! Everything about her was just so…large. But now, somehow, when he thought of her mouth, and her hands, and her long, thick legs, suddenly those things didn’t seem so unattractive. Suddenly, it seemed like the exact opposite were true, if his mercurial penis was to be believed.

Hoping to avoid embarrassment and preserve their friendship, he did everything he could to assure there would be no erectile shenanigans during their run. Translation: he jerked off to internet porn three times (though he was counting it as a one boner incident) before he left the house, strenuously _not_ thinking about Brienne the whole time, with moderate success. He reckoned Jaime Jr. should be plum tuckered out by the time they were in the presence of Brienne’s shampoo smell. He contemplated and rejected the idea of wearing an athletic supporter.

A couple miles into their run, he was regretting that decision. They came to a stop in the shade for a quick water break. Sweat trickled down the back of Brienne’s neck, causing the top of her shirt to stick to her skin. When the wind shifted, the faint odor of her hair wafted over him and stirred Jaime Jr. from his slumber. Not ready to address this new development in their relationship at the ass crack of dawn on a work day, he did the only thing he could think of on the spot: faked a cramp and begged off the rest of the run, insisting she continue as he hobbled back the way they came. He knew she’d keep going because it killed her to deviate from a workout and also because she thought he was being a baby. Not that she said so but he knew her too well. It almost killed him to keep his mouth shut but he swallowed his tongue when she rolled her eyes, waved awkwardly and jogged off.

Visions of Brienne’s sweaty body chased him through the Kingswood. By the time he got to his car in the blessedly empty parking lot, he was in dire straits. The minute he was seated in the car, he came in his shorts without touching himself. This was getting out of hand. Literally and figuratively. He needed professional help. He needed Tyrion.

He went over to his brother’s apartment after work, pathetically in need of advice. If anyone could figure out what was wrong with his penis, it was Tyrion. After a long, embarrassing confession of his recent proclivities, during which Tyrion expressed no surprise whatsoever, they began to drink heavily. Which is how he ended up drunk off his ass by midnight.

“What is _wrong_ with me?” Jaime moaned into his glass.

Tyrion smirked. “What can I say? Love’s a bitch.”

“Love?” Jaime scowled. “I’m not in love.”

His brother gave him one of his patented gods-give-me-strength sighs. “Sure, Jaime. Keep telling yourself that. Right before you bust a nut over ‘the ugliest girl in Westeros’.”

For a moment, the rage that washed over Jaime at Tyrion’s slander of Brienne was blinding, first toward his brother for being a dick, then toward himself when he recognized his own words being thrown back in his face from over a year ago.

“I can’t believe you haven’t been boning her this entire time.”

“We’re friends, Tyrion! I never thought of her that way.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Well, your train of thought seems to have jumped the track.”

Upon reflection, Jaime was horrified to discover that Tyrion might be right. How did this happen? How did something like falling in love with your best friend just sneak up on you? What should he do now? He felt nauseous. What if she didn’t love him back? He’d always figured she was attracted to him – everyone was attracted to him, he was empirically attractive – but he had no idea about any deeper feelings she might have.

“Oh gods,” he groaned, “what am I going to do?”

“Uh, tell her?” Jaime glared daggers at him until he finally took pity on his big brother. “If it helps, it’s pretty fucking obvious she feels the same way.”

“It is? She does?” That perked him up. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“I have eyes? Trust me, you guys are _not_ subtle.” Tyrion gestured vaguely over Jaime’s face and body, annoyed. “All this, and you haven’t got the first clue. What a fucking waste.”

That’s when they started doing shots.

 xXxXx

Tyrion advised him to be direct and have an honest conversation with Brienne, so that’s what Jaime was going to do. Right now. In the middle of the night. Drunk. Really, really drunk. Which might not be quite what Tyrion had in mind but Jaime was a man of action. He texted her from the cab but she never replied, which did not deter him. It was late but it was the weekend and he knew she didn’t have to work in the morning. He staggered a bit, fumbling with her spare key in the hallway of her building. After a long series of muttered curses, the key finally slipped in and he burst into the apartment.

“Brienne?” he whisper-shouted into the darkness. He didn’t want to scare her but he didn’t want to sneak up on her, either. She’d clobber him if she thought he was an intruder. He could swear he heard his name from the other side of her bedroom door but that might’ve been the hippocras talking.

There was definitely movement in there, he could hear sheets rustling. _What if someone’s in there with her?_ The unbidden thought made his blood run cold. Obviously Brienne didn’t have a boyfriend, there was no way he wouldn’t know about it. But that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t getting busy. For all he knew, she was hooking up left and right with guys off Petyr’s List. Not that she seemed the type. But then again, maybe she was _exactly_ the type. All he knew was the sudden thought of some other dude’s boner anywhere near Brienne’s vicinity made him want to hurl. Possibly literally.

“Brienne,” he called out in his deepest bass.

Her bedroom door cracked open. “Jaime?” She sounded hoarse, like she’d been sleeping. “What the fuck?”

She stepped into the living room, a baseball bat dangling limply from her hand. Her hair was an absolute riot and she was only dressed in a misbuttoned shirt. A green plaid shirt… _his_ green plaid shirt. _Seven hells_. In spite of his drunkenness, he could feel a stirring in his groin. She looked…well, she looked a bit well-fucked, in all honesty.

He frowned at her and swayed on his feet. “Am I innerupting?” he slurred.

“What?” she gasped. Even in the moonlit dimness he could tell she was blushing.

“Din’nt meanna _intrude_ , if you got company,” he pouted. The room was starting to spin.

“Oh my gods, you’re drunk,” she groaned. “What are you _doing_ here? Jaime, it’s midnight for Seven’s sake!”

“I needa sit down,” he announced, then abruptly did, on her sofa.

She poured a glass of water from the tap and left it on the coffee table in front of him. He noticed her fidgeting with the hem of her – _his_ shirt. That’s when he realized she wasn’t wearing any underwear. He started putting it together: the hastily buttoned shirt, the name he swore he’d heard her call, the panicked rustling of her sheets. There wasn’t anyone else there, she’d been alone in her bedroom. _Oh my gods_. The mental picture of Brienne sprawled on her bed, hands between her legs, thinking of him, made him instantly hard. He might have whimpered. He slumped back against her couch, too drunk and overwhelmed to care if she noticed. Oh, she noticed all right. It was pretty hard not to. He was wearing khakis and the swelling was…significant. Her mouth made a little “O” of surprise and she backed away from him.

He gazed up at her, puppy dog eyes filled with resigned worry. “I can’t help it, B,” he wailed, “my dick wants to fuck you!” And with that, he passed out.

When he woke up with a splitting headache late in the morning, lying on the couch with a blanket over him, he knew immediately that he was alone. His green plaid shirt, folded neatly, lay atop his shoes by the door. Curiosity overcame his hangover malaise enough to make him stand and lurch over to it. Bringing the shirt to his face, he inhaled the smell of her through the fabric. It seemed to ease the pounding in his head and maybe even settle his stomach. He wasn’t sure if his current boner was newly risen or a holdover from the night before but he was definitely not sticking around to take care of it. Locking the door as he left, he tried to determine where things stood between them. He couldn’t remember anything after his cringe worthy confession but she hadn’t kicked him out, so that was a good sign. He didn’t think she was breaking up with him, for lack of a better phrase, or else there’d be a lot more than just his favorite button-down in front of the door. He knew for a fact she had at least one other shirt of his plus a pair of sweatpants. Not to mention her impromptu work outfit from earlier in the week. And the fact that she clearly hadn’t laundered the shirt before giving it back was distinctly un-Brienne-like. Was she simply returning a piece of clothing or throwing down a gauntlet? He needed to talk to Tyrion again. Sans hippocras. 

xXxXx 

The following evening Jaime found himself at a table with Tyrion, Daven and Grey at The Red Keep, their go-to King’s Landing bar. He’d been drinking but wasn’t drunk and had no intention of becoming so. Two hangovers per week was his absolute limit. He was peripherally aware of Brienne somewhere in the vicinity, probably at the bar with Missy and Dany. They were doing this weird semi-ignoring each other dance and it was putting him on edge. He’d worn his green plaid shirt to let her know her challenge was accepted. Assuming she’d challenged him, that is; he still wasn’t sure what the hell was happening between them. A serving wench delivered a round of shots and flounced off with a flourish of T&A. He eyed the glass warily but hesitated to lift it. He glanced up at the bar, expecting to meet Brienne’s judgmental gaze but instead he saw Dany staring over his shoulder with wide eyes. Even from across the room he could clearly see her saying, “Oh shit!” 

Next thing he knew, Brienne was standing next to his chair, looming over the table. Without a word, she threw back all four shots in rapid succession, slamming each glass upside down on the table when she finished. The men stared at her, dumbfounded. She wiped her mouth with her arm, grabbed Jaime’s wrist, and pulled him to the dance floor in the adjacent room. She snaked through the crowd until they were surrounded by sweaty, pulsing bodies. Her expression remained impassive as she turned to Jaime and put his hands on her waist. She stepped as close to him as possible, pressing the entire length of her body flush against him. The crowd jostled them rhythmically until Jaime, who it turned out was a fantastic dancer, took the lead and began guiding her hips with his own. Unusually graceful, Brienne followed his lead, drunk enough to just go with the flow, which was clearly her intention right now. He was certainly not going to question her motives or behavior. She slung her arms around his neck, meeting his hooded gaze as they swayed to the music. He pressed her even closer. Their legs shifted and she ground her hips against him with great purpose. His mind slowly began to melt just as his below-the-belt region began to stiffen. They needed to get out of here before he fucked her standing up in a bathroom stall, the thought of which made him moan and finally kiss her, thrusting his tongue deep in her mouth, trying to convey the urgency of the situation. A long, searing moment later she dragged herself away, biting into her bottom lip, staring at his mouth. Without a word he pulled her through the other side of the crowd and out the side exit.

The crisp night air hit their hot skin like a cold shower. Not for long, though. With Brienne’s hand still clasped in his, he flagged down the first cab he saw. He handed the driver a twenty dragon note for the five dragon fare and asked him to turn up the radio. Then he aimed his laser focus at Brienne, stalking her with his eyes before prowling his hands over her arms and back, going in for the kill. This kiss was less frantic than their first on the dance floor, though no less passionate. He savored the taste, smell and feel of her body writhing against him. He didn’t know if it was one kiss or fifty by the time they pulled up in front of her building. 

Somehow they managed to extricate themselves from each other and the cab without bodily injury. He angled himself behind her to mask the erection straining against his jeans. The gods conspired against him to fill the lift with a herd of cockblockers intent on ruining a perfectly good elevator snog opportunity. He was situated against the back wall, Brienne still in front of him. She leaned back slightly, just enough to press her ass into his crotch. At first he thought it was an accident, that she was shifting away from the strangers around them. But then she most definitely rolled her hips, pushing deeper into him. He clenched his jaw and kept his eyes trained on the rising floor numbers lighting up above the doors. When they reached her floor he shoved Brienne into the hallway without apology to her or the useless fuckers he couldn’t get away from fast enough.

They stumbled into her darkened apartment, lit only by the transom above the door. One minute he was fumbling for the light, swiping her breast by accident, and the next they were all over each other. This kiss was slow and exploring, gentle yet probing. She was warm and firm wrapped in his arms. She clasped him as tightly as he did her. He’d inadvertently backed her against the wall, legs spread to hem her in. Given her height and weight advantage, it would take nothing for her to shove him away, pin him down – now _that_ was an interesting idea – but she didn’t. When their mouths disengaged, she only leaned her head back against the wall, hands resting lightly on his hips, staring him down with heavy lidded lust. He couldn’t hold back a slight smirk of satisfaction as he pressed his face into the exposed column of her throat, brushing his lips and tongue down the pillar of tender skin to the hollow between her clavicles, up the side of her neck, delving into the sensitive juncture of jaw, neck and ear. He absorbed the shudder that wracked her body at his touch. When he pulled back, all trace of humor was vanished. He trailed his fingers down her arms and took her hands in his, backing away until she followed, allowing herself to be led to her bedroom.

They stood inches apart in the moonlight, hands still clasped, heart rates still accelerated. He felt no hesitation, only the need to give this moment the solemn consideration it was due. Then he slid his hands under the hem of her plain white tee, gliding his palms over her ribs, up alongside her perfect meager breasts, thumbs brushing her stiff nipples over her bra, until she lifted her arms and let him pull the shirt over her head. She unbuttoned his shirt and slowly pushed it over his broad shoulders and down his arms. His ego was not above appreciating her worshipful gaze. It was his turn to shudder as her fingers fluttered over the washboard ridges of his abs, coming to rest on his belt buckle. Next he peeled off her pale pink sports bra, which he discovered was only a few shades lighter than her pert, straining nipples. He thrilled at their hardness beneath his palms. He bent to take one, then the other in his mouth, giving them just enough attention to tease. Her breathing hitched as she drove her fingers through his hair, to stop or encourage him he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to give her enough time to overthink everything so he yanked her jeans and underwear down without unbuttoning them and buried his face in the coarse thatch of hair between her legs, reveling in her scent and softness. His fingers dug into her firm, plush ass and pulled her closer so he could nuzzle into her. She cried out and jerked forward, clutching at his shoulders so she wouldn’t fall. She pulled at him, silently demanding that he stand, which he did with great reluctance. It was worth it to feel her gasp in his mouth when she caught her own taste on his lips. She crushed him to her, plunging her tongue in his mouth as she struggled with his belt. He hurriedly assisted until they were equally naked. She touched his waist, tentative at first but quickly gaining confidence as she pulled him backward to the bed, holding his gaze as she stretched back upon it, inviting him closer. He covered her with his body, settling his elbows at her sides as his hips nestled between hers, the evidence of his ardent affection stiff and throbbing against her belly.

She hesitated for the first time since they’d begun. He could see words sticking in her throat, uncertainty beginning to cloud her eyes. He gently cupped her cheek in his palm and kissed her softly, resting his forehead against hers, taking a beat. He realized that for as close as they were, he didn’t know much about her sexual history; she never talked about it and he never bothered to ask. He didn’t think she was on the pill. He was intimately familiar with her medicine cabinet so he’s pretty sure he’d have noticed. Not that she couldn’t be on something else, but still. He pulled away just long enough to reach into her nightstand and grab the condom he knew was buried in the corner, a remnant party favor from Renly’s bachelorette party.

Jaime took a moment to inwardly marvel at his current state of clear headedness. Not that he wasn’t consumed with lust for Brienne, but there was also a startling sense of clarity underlying the biology of it all. This endeavor had certainly begun on impulse but the stakes were too high for him to get carried away in the moment. This was _the_ moment. He could not fuck it up, not if it was leading to what he was beginning to realize they could have together. He could feel the tension leave Brienne’s body when she saw the condom. He grinned devilishly and handed it to her, chuckling at her alarmed expression as she blinked back and forth between the foil packet and his raging boner. He rolled off her and onto his back, folding his hands behind his head, raising an eyebrow as if to dare her. Unsurprised when she rose to the challenge – she made it so easy sometimes – gingerly kneeling beside him, too focused to be self-conscious, Jaime’s low laugh quickly turned to a groan when her strong, sure fingers delicately brushed his rock hard cock. How he didn’t come then and there, he’d never know. They were both breathing heavy by the time she finished her task.

Brienne took a moment to appreciate the golden splendor that was Jaime Lannister, spread before her like a sumptuous feast. Her eyes roamed from his enthusiastic cock to his chiseled stomach and chest, finally reaching his lips, then his eyes, where she allowed him to see just how well she appreciated him. Her grip at the base of his shaft also got the message across. He waited to see if she would take the initiative and straddle him. The thought made his dick twitch in her hand. So did the widening of her eyes in response. Despite her obvious arousal and relaxed position, now lying on her side against him, she made no move. He pulled her head closer to kiss her, leisurely at first, then with growing intensity. He turned on his side to face her, a testing hand pressing her hip, curious if she would follow his lead again. She did, rolling to her back, one hand pressed to the nape of his neck, the other at his waist, rolling him on top of her. He groaned in happy obligation. This time his cock nestled between her flaxen juncture, relishing the heat of her. He reached down to explore her wetness, spreading it to her stiff bud and back, making her hips buck against him, seeking him. He wanted to explore more of her, all of her, map every inch of her glorious freckled body and make her cry for more. He wanted all that so badly. But he _needed_ to fuck her. Right now. This instant. Or he would maybe die.

He maneuvered the blunt tip of his cock to her entrance. Brienne’s eyes closed and she emitted the softest sigh Jaime had ever heard as he slowly pressed deeper into her body. Her thighs spread further to accommodate him. Once fully embedded, he paused to plant soft kisses across her chest. She lay boneless beneath him, absorbing the full weight of him pressing her down into the mattress. They savored the moment for another heartbeat, then instinctively began moving together. He felt her muscles tighten under the skin beneath his fingers where he cradled her shoulders and he picked up the pace, guiding long, sure strokes deep inside her. One hand kneaded her small breast. His face was buried in the crook of her neck. Brienne held him to her firmly as their gasps and groans escalated in tandem. He eased up when it sounded like she was about to come but she frowned discontentedly.

“Harder,” she implored hotly in his ear, fingers gouging his ass, hips rising to grind against him.

He complied with deepest gratitude by hooking an elbow beneath one of her knees to spread her wider and thrusting forcefully against her again and again. Finally she clutched at him, holding his hips still, grunting incoherently and grinding into him as she spasmed from the inside out. When her eyes burst open a few heartbeats later, a lazy, satisfied smile slid across Jaime’s face as he resumed the slow, hard pump of his hips. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she reached up to kiss him, her tongue matching his thrust at the moment of his final plunge. He shuddered against her as his body was wracked by orgasm. They lay still for several moments in a sweaty, panting heap.

“So what’s for breakfast?” he asked playfully, hoping to nip any “morning after” awkwardness in the bud.

Just as the soothing scent of her hair began to permeate his brain she said, “I think there’s leftover stir fry in the fridge.”

His still exhausted dick twitched with Pavlovian devotion. At this point, he wasn’t even surprised anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I prefer keeping these guys in Westeros, cuz why not, but apparently it was absolutely necessary for my AU to include Aviator sunglasses, chopsticks, and Pavlov. Thanks for reading!


End file.
